


The Stork Club

by MockingBlue (RoyalSeal)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: AU, F/M, post-whumpage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4836656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalSeal/pseuds/MockingBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt from Tumblr: AU: Steve lands the plane safely so he and Peggy actually get to go dancing at the Stork Club. The word "safely" is used loosely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stork Club

Still wearing her SSR uniform, Peggy slumped tiredly over a tumbler of whiskey, while boys and men in officer’s uniform danced by arm in arm with show girls in gaudy dresses, and ladies who had shed the drab grey of their nurses’ uniforms and had put on red lipstick and laughing faces drank high balls until their faces were numb. A live band played something upbeat for Manhattan’s elite to swing dance to, sequins sparkled madly in the show lights, and cigarette smoke and too much perfume hung in a thick, heady cloud overhead.

She shouldn’t have come. She was under dressed, exhausted, and though she came from a family of money back in England, here, in America, she was bordering on penniless. Howard had had to wheedle at her for days.

“Steve’s  _fine!_ ” He assured her again and again. “He ejected, he’s shook up, he’s sore, he’s got broken bones and burns but Peg, seriously, it’s nothing these doctors haven’t patched up a million times before. And you know he heals fast. He won’t die if you come hang out at the Stork for one night!”

He was right, of course. Steve was spending most of his time sleeping, and when he was awake, he was so tired that he could barely hold a conversation with her for longer than five minutes. And, after all, it  _was_  Valentine’s Day. She could do with a night out, and free admission to the Stork Club (courtesy of Howard) seemed like an excellent way to spend it.

But Howard was now dancing with his sixth blonde bombshell (in a dress to make her mother cry) of the night, and seemed to have quite forgotten Peggy’s existence. Worse still, because of an emergency briefing that had left her no time to change, her mussed hair and uniform seemed to be diverting all admiring stares away from her. Not that she was interested in spending her evening with someone; she was content with Steve and could wait until their first date, but because of her chosen profession, it was sometimes hard to remember that she was competent  _and_  beautiful.

The band came to a resounding finish for the song, and the revelers and dancers all applauded wildly. Peggy petulantly rolled her eyes and downed the rest of her whiskey, barely paying attention as the lead trumpeter got up to the microphone.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, thank you. Thank you.” He raised and lowered his arms, signaling for quiet. It took a moment for the applause to die down. When it did, he continued. “Now ladies and gentlemen, we have a real American hero with us tonight, and he’s here looking for a very special lady for Valentine’s Day. Is there a Miss…Peggy Carter in the building tonight?”

At the sound of her name, Peggy’s head shot up, and a murmur went out over the crowd. A redhead with a cloying voice (who had clearly had too much to drink) cried out, “Peggy baby! C’mon on out, sugar!” There was laughter, and a chant of “ _Peggy! Peggy! Peggy!_ ”

She was going to kill Howard Stark. Shoot him in the groin, staple his face, guillotine that ridiculous mustache off his upper lip and then stick it back on with hot glue. Her face was aflame with an angry blush, and she was just starting to reluctantly slide down from her bar stool when the trumpeter called out for quiet again.

“Sorry ladies and gentlemen, our very special American hero has offered a correction. We’re looking for  _Agent_  Peggy Carter. So uh…Agent? Agent Peggy?”

Well. That wasn’t Howard. Curiosity piqued, she descended from the bar stool with a little more enthusiasm, and began weaving her way through the throng of people a little unsteadily, still buzzed from her whiskey. A boy in a sailor’s uniform pointed her out and cried, “There she is!” Cheers broke out (her bright red lipstick was probably paler than her face now), and the crowd drew back for her, making a path to the stage.

And she saw him. Standing at the foot of the stage below the band. His officer’s uniform had grown too large, and hung limply in strange places. His left arm ended in a thickly bandaged stump just above the wrist, and he leaned heavily on a cane with his left. The side of his face was scarred and his hair, having been shaved, grew in awkward, bristly patches but…it was him.

It was Steve.

He grinned lopsidedly at her as she stared with mouth agape and hand raised in an awkward questioning gesture.

“Hey Peg.”

“What are you… _doing_?!” She exclaimed. The drummer played a  _ba-dum TSS_ , and the crowd laughed. Embarrassed, Peggy instinctively moved closer to Steve.

With a bashful grin better suited to the little man he once was instead of the one who towered above her, even as he was hunched over on a cane, he glanced down at the floor, then back up at her. “Well we…had a date.”

Borne upwards by the chorus of “awww” from the crowd, the lead trumpeter in the band took this moment to say into the microphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, Captain America! And his girl,  _Agent_  Peggy Carter!”

There was thunderous applause, even a few whistles. “Hey! Peg!” Someone called out over the din, and Peggy looked over and met Howard’s eyes. With a devilish grin, he raised a champagne glass. “You’re welcome!”

The pianist suddenly ran his fingers down the keyboard. The double bassist plucked a few chords, and the trumpeter raised his instrument to his lips, and the soft strains of  _La Vie En Rose_  drifted out into the club. The atmosphere changed instantly from its earlier raucous state, as other couples joined hands and began to sway gently to the slow song, gazing tenderly into the other’s eyes.

For a moment, Steve colored, and he winced. Peggy started to go to him, but he held up a hand as though asking for a moment, and slowly straightened. “Stark!”

“Yes Captain!” The debonair inventor strode out across the dance floor to Steve’s side without swaying once – a true feat of will, considering how much champagne Peggy had watched him drink.

“Hold my cane, please.”

“Steve, please–” Peggy tried to cut in, and even Howard hesitated, but Steve shook his head.

“I owe you a dance. I don’t want to mess it up. Please, Peggy.” He flashed her a pleading grin. “Please let me try to do this right.”

She blinked back a sudden rush of tears and bit her lip, nodding her head to let him continue, but ready to rush forward and catch him if he should stumble at any time. She watched with growing apprehension as Steve handed his cane to Howard (who looked almost as worried as she). Slowly, painfully, he straightened, and, with a look of determination, began limping towards her. She bit her lip even harder and resisted the desperate need to run to him, understanding how important this was for him but hating to watch him in pain. But this was Captain America. This was Steve Rogers, and no matter the obstacle, the Red Skull, the entire HYDRA army, a crashing plane, or his own broken body, he always seemed to find his way back to her.

A tear dripped down out of her eyes as he reached her, still grinning that lopsided grin of his, and she sniffed in shame and smiled. “Steve you…you really shouldn’t…you should…”

“Nah, don’t worry about me.” He said teasingly, with a glint in his eye. “I told the doctors this was an emergency, and after some fighting and a little bit of being a very bad patient, they hyped me up on so many painkillers that I could probably fight a tornado or something.”

Peggy laughed through her tears. “Please don’t fight a tornado.”

“Not making any promises.” He winked at her, and she laughed again as he took her hand in his. “Wish I could still put my hand on your waist like I’m supposed to, but I seem to have misplaced it.”

“God, Steve…” In a moment of vulnerability, she laid her head against his chest and listened for the sound of his heartbeat, which she could feel over the noise of the music surrounding them. Steve spoke again, and the vibrations of his voice against her cheek were comforting to her.

“Don’t feel bad. You’d only have to feel bad if it started growing  _back_ , because then where would we be, Peg?”

“You’d be making entirely different sorts of films than war propaganda.” She replied, leaning back. He laughed, and started to sway very gently to the rhythm of the music. She followed, not letting him move out of their space, but stay where they were, rocking back and forth with a slow, easy grace.

The lights of the Stork Club were reflected in his eyes as she stared up into them and considered just how very close she had come to never seeing them again. “Steve.” His body shivered with delight beneath her hands.

“I like the way you say my name.”

“You came back to me, Steve.”

“I promised you a dance. I follow through on my promises.”

“Promise me you won’t leave me again.”

His lips brushed over hers. They were cool and soft, and tasted of jello. A sigh escaped her mouth, and as it did, he breathed between her lips, “I promise.”

His words tasted like home.


End file.
